


Real Life History!

by DarcyDelaney



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gen, and a little bit of hurt!Dean, casefic, gen - Freeform, show-level violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-30
Updated: 2015-01-30
Packaged: 2018-03-09 17:10:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 13,418
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3257792
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DarcyDelaney/pseuds/DarcyDelaney
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam and Dean travel to Amish Country in Lancaster, PA to investigate the string of murders of those who portray Amish men at Real Life History!, a living museum that hires actors to depict different people and moments in history. To try and get more information on the case, Dean gets a gig portraying an Amish man at said museum, but ends up being captured by what they're hunting, because that's just the Winchester way.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**A/N:** all the hugs and all the thanks to  **shayasar** , who created the absolutely awesome art for this story! i was so lucky to be able to work with you and i had such a blast doing so, thank you so much for all the suggestions, read-throughs, ideas, and art! :D her full art masterpost is right over [here](http://shayasar.livejournal.com/111204.html)! betaed by  **glovered** and  **story_monger** , thank you guys so much for your edits and comments and for making the story comprehensible!  
  
 **General Disclaimer Thing:** I'm not Amish, and I don't know anyone who's Amish. I tried to make everything mentioned as accurate as possible, but please let me know if something is wrong or anything and I'll fix it! Also SPN doesn't belong to me this is all fiction and written for fun etc. etc.

Here's the original prompt:

                                                                                                             

* * *

 

"So, Mr. Perry." Dean smiles tightly as Ted, the hiring manager for Real Life History!, sets down Dean’s application and studies him over his glasses. "Tell me—what makes you want to work with us?"  
  
Dean looks around Ted’s small office, the walls of which are plastered with different posters with cheesy quotes and jokes on them-- _Greetings from Roanoke, VA...wish you were here!_  is Dean’s personal favorite, as well as the simple  _History rules!_  poster featuring a cartoon king sitting on a throne. After a few seconds, he turns his attention back to Ted and smiles.  
  
"Well, Ted—can I call you Ted?" Ted nods. "Ted, I really like history, and uh, teaching…people. I think it'd be fun to help kids—and adults, adults, too—learn about history and give them a, um, some more… _insight_ on different topics than they might normally get."

Ted nods. "Well, we certainly aim to do that at Real Life History!."  
  
"I was hoping so."  
  
Ted sticks a pen in his mouth and chews on the cap thoughtfully. "Says here you were a theater major at NYU," he says.  
  
 _Goddamn it, Sam._  
  
Dean hopes his eyes don't betray that this is his first time hearing about his theater degree.  
  
"Sure was."  
  
"Must've been fun."  
  
"It was. Pretty stressful at times, but, y'know…college." Dean shrugs.  
  
Ted laughs, and Dean smiles, relieved.   
  
"I've gotta admit," Ted continues, "I was a little surprised that you checked off working in the Amish Adventure as your first choice."  
  
Dean shrugs and opens his mouth to answer, but before he can, Ted continues.  
  
"Not that I'm gonna complain, of course. We need all the help we can get over there. Just surprised, is all."  
  
"Yeah," Dean says, rubbing the back of his neck. "I've, uh, heard about the issues you guys have been having."  
  
Ted barks out a humorless laugh. "'Issues' is an understatement, kid. Four people go missing in as many weeks? Try making your employees feel comfortable after that shit."  
  
"I can imagine."  
  
Ted scrubs a hand over his mouth and shakes his head before looking up at Dean. "Sorry, I shouldn't be dumping all this on you. I'll be scarin' ya off before the day's done. You're hired, by the way, in case I didn't make that clear." Ted stands up and offers his hand across the messy, disorganized desk for Dean to shake.  
  
"I'm sure I'll be sticking around, Ted," Dean says, shaking the man's hand warmly. "Can't chase me off that easily."  
  
"Let's hope not." Ted grabs a ring of keys from his desk and looks at Dean. "So, what d'you say—ready to get measured for your new wardrobe, kid?"

* * *

Dean bursts into the motel room a few hours later, his arms laden with bags of clothes and instruction manuals, one of which is appropriately titled  _Amish ABCs_. He dumps them all on his bed then turns to face his brother, who's sitting at the table in the kitchenette, his face illuminated by the glow of his laptop.  
  
"NYU, Sam? Seriously?"  
  
Sam shrugs without looking up. "They have a good theater program. Had to make your resume look realistic so they'd at least consider hiring you."  
  
Dean rolls his eyes. "Jesus, thanks for that. A heads-up would've been nice."  
  
"Figured we'd put your acting chops to the test right away," Sam says with a smirk. When he finally looks up at his older brother, however, he does a double take. "What the hell's on your face?"  
  
Dean strokes his fake beard before looking off dramatically into the distance, hands on his hips. "You're looking at Dean Baker, husband of Carol Baker, father to Billy, Laura, Peter, and…uh…" He reaches down and flips through one of his books for a few seconds, "…Rosie Baker."  
  
Sam furrows his brow and stares at Dean. "That still doesn't explain the beard, dude."  
  
Sam looks expectantly at Dean, who rolls his eyes. "Apparently once they get married, Amish dudes grow beards. And they never cut 'em. Like, ever. If you hate someone and want to kick their ass, you know how you do it?" He makes a scissor motion with his fingers and snips along his fake beard. "Fucking cut their beard off."  
  
"So you're telling me that you need to wear that every day."  
  
Dean shakes his head. "Only when I'm Dean Baker. If I'm Dean—" another glance at the papers. "—Porter, then I can be smooth as a baby's bottom. That dude isn't hitched yet. And I get to choose whenever I want to be the dude with the beard, so that’ll end up happening...oh, never.”  
  
Sam bites his lower lip, looks at Dean once more, then bursts into laughter. Dean glares at him and mimics Sam's laugh mockingly before flipping him off and flopping down onto the bed. He yanks off his beard and throws it at Sam, who just barely manages to dodge it. He glares at Dean as if he threw a dead mouse at him.  
  
“Oh, by the way, remind me again why I’m the one doing this and not you, Mr.  _Our Town_?”  
  
Sam tries to regain his composure, scrubbing a hand over his mouth as if he’s trying to wipe away his smirk. “Right, because you’d rather be doing research all day in here.”  
  
“Least there’s beer here,” Dean grumbles. He walks over to the table, pulls out the chair opposite his brother, and sits down. “Whaddaya got?”  
  
“Nothing much yet,” Sam says, tapping his pen against the laptop screen. “Nobody really knows what’s going on with the murders, just that four people—guys, specifically—who work in the Amish section of your museum have gone—”  
  
“Amish Adventure.”  
  
“…What?”  
  
Dean looks expectantly at his brother. “It’s not ‘the Amish Section,’ it’s the ‘Amish Adventure.’”  
  
Sam pauses, and seems to decide the best route to take is to pretend Dean hadn’t said anything. “They’ve gone missing, just for like an hour or so, so nobody really thinks anything’s out of the ordinary, and then they just show up dead.” He tosses Dean a copy of the local newspaper, which has WHO KILLED THE AMISH MEN? written across the top in large, black print. Dean grabs it and scans the article.  
  
“Cause of death?”  
  
Sam shrugs. “It varies. Two seem to have been beat up pretty bad before being strangled, and two were shot to death..."  
  
"That's not that weird, dude."  
  
"…with bullets from guns that haven’t existed since the 20th century.”  
  
Dean opens his mouth then nods. “Huh. Ghost?”  
  
“Could be.”  
  
“What kind of ghost only wants Amish actors dead?”  
  
“Oh, I don’t know, maybe an Amish ghost?”  
  
Dean barks out a laugh. “Great. Amish ghosts. Fucking wonderful.”  
  
Sam shrugs, then turns back to his laptop. “Lancaster is one of the most well-known Amish communities, and we’re right down the road from there, so I’ll do some research tomorrow on possible motives or weird deaths around their general area. And you—” He eyes the black straw hat that Dean’s trying on.  
  
“Be my ridiculously charming self to try and figure out if anybody’s doing anything that’d piss off an Amish ghost? Got it.” Dean leans back in his chair and, in an impressive display of flexibility, opens the fridge, grabs a beer, and cracks it open against the edge of the table without turning around. “Anything else?”  
  
Sam shakes his head then waves Dean off. “Go study your papers, Dean Baker.”  
  


                                                                                                        

* * *

“Most of this stuff is pretty straightforward, but Ted’ll get pissed if he finds out I didn’t cover it, so just humor me, okay?”  
  
“Uh, yeah, sure.”  
  
Dean’s first day on the job starts out slow enough. He doesn’t have to wear his costume to work—they’ve got changing rooms, thank God—but he did have to get there early and park the Impala in a lot that looked like it had been the backdrop for a murder or five in a past life.  _Can’t have people thinking the Amish drive cars to work_ , Ted had said with a laugh.  
  
Ha. So funny, that Ted.  
  
Now, Dean is shadowing a tall, gangly kid named Alex, who reminds him of a more awkward version of Sam, if Sam spoke in monotone and looked like that kid who constantly got beaten up in high school. He seems nice enough, but his long-winded explanation about each section of the park makes Dean want to take a nap, and he isn’t sure that he’ll even be willing to talk about the weird shit going on.  
  
“They’re usually sticklers about making sure we don’t mingle with people that work in other sections of the park, since most of us are from different times and all,” Alex says as they pass Colonist County without a word to any of the colonial actors. “Although most people don’t really care, so I guess technically you can talk to anyone if you don’t get caught.”  
  
“D'you talk to ‘em?”  
  
“Not really. In the break room, sometimes. I try not to be too anachronistic.”  
  
“Ah.” Dean winces as he takes another step. His feet are killing him; the Amish might be good at farming, but they’re shit at making shoes with decent insoles. His suspenders are digging into his shoulders, and he wonders again why the hell he has to wear these things; his pants can stay up just fine by themselves, thank you very much. At least the hat keeps the sun out of his eyes. Maybe he’ll keep the hat once they’re done here.  
  
“Have you ever been to Disney?” Alex asks suddenly.  
  
“Have I—uh, no. Why?”  
  
Alex shrugs. “Sometimes it’s a good comparison to use, because of how they have characters walking around all the time. It’s not supposed to happen, but every so often, you’ll end up having to interact with guests outside of the Amish Adventure, like when you're on your way back from a break or something, and when you do, you gotta make sure you stay in character, like the actors at Disney do.”  
  
Dean stares at him. “So if the park was open and someone stopped us right now, we'd need to act like Amish dudes?”  
  
Alex nods. “And just as a heads up,” he says, “the Amish generally don’t say ‘dude.’”  
  
“I’ll keep that in mind.”  
  
"The bathrooms are over there," Alex says, pointing to a small shack-like building off to the left. "The third stall from the door doesn't have a lock, so make sure you avoid that one."  
  
"Duly noted."  
  
They walk for what feels like at least another 500 miles, past the Pilgrim Platoon and the Native American Nook. The smell of deep-fried food is already wafting in from the Roanoke Roundtable Food Court, and Dean finds himself practically salivating, already yearning for his lunch break. Alex spends another twenty minutes pointing out random things that Dean’s already forgotten before they finally arrive at the Amish Adventure. Alex waves a hand in a—well, in a pretty pathetic, if Dean’s being honest, but he can’t blame the guy—display of enthusiasm. They walk around to the back of the exhibit, where Alex unhitches a gate and holds it open for Dean to enter first.  
  
“I give you…Amish Adventure.”  
  
“Uh...cool.” Dean glances at Alex, wondering if he should be reacting a certain way, but the kid isn’t looking at him. Instead he leads Dean into the barn, where three other people are lounging before the day officially begins.  
  
“Guys, this is Dean,” Alex says to them. “He's new. Dean, this is Sean, Cam, and Sadie.”  
  
Sean, a guy in his mid-twenties who looks like he couldn’t care less about most things, nods toward Dean. He’s got dark brown, shaggy hair and a fake beard. His sleeves are rolled up to his elbows, exposing tattoos running down both arms.  
  
“Who’re you married to?” Dean asks by way of greeting, tilting his chin at Sean’s beard.  
  
“Patricia,” Sean says. “She’s out front, being all…lady-like.”  
  
“I’ve gotta be honest. I thought I was gonna have to keep up the act this whole time. Thank God.”  
  
“Technically, we’re supposed to,” Alex says, “but they can’t see us, so nobody ever really does.”  
  
Right when he says, this, Sadie walks up to Dean and curtsies politely. “Pleasure, sir.”  
  
Sean rolls his eyes. “ _Mostly_ nobody.”  
  
“Uh, you, too,” Dean says, flashing a quick, awkward smile at Sadie before turning his attention back to Sean, Cam, and Alex.  
  
"Hey," Cam says, stepping forward and shaking Dean's hand. His hands are strong and calloused, like he actually does do hard work in his spare time. His blonde hair is trimmed neat and short, and Dean wonders for a second if he used to be in the military.  
  
"So," Sean says, leaning against a doorframe and taking a sip from a water bottle, "you permanent, or a temp?"  
  
"I'm…” _Shit._   _I’m here because you guys are probably getting haunted by a ghost and my brother and I are going to stop it, so hopefully I’ll only be stuck here for a day or two, maybe less. As long as I don’t get killed._ “Uh, not sure yet."  
  
"Nah, you're a temp," Cam says, clapping Dean on the back. "Nobody'd want to stay here any longer than they have to, especially with all the shit that's been going on lately."  
  
 _Oh,_ here _we go._  
  
"Yeah," Dean says, trying to choose his words carefully and not seem too eager, "I've heard about all that. Pretty scary shit."  
  
"You're tellin' us," Sean says. "Honestly, when Ted told us we were gonna have a new guy, none of us believed him. Nobody would be crazy enough to start right in the middle of fuckin'..." Sean twirls his hand in a circle, trying to find the right word, "…murder central, but hey, here you are."  
  
Dean shrugs. "Need the money." He looks around at his four coworkers. "I'm guessing that's why you all are still here?"  
  
"Give the man a prize." Cam throws his hands up in mock celebration.  
  
"You aren't scared?"  
  
"Are you kidding me? This job sucks—it's definitely not something I want to get fuckin'  _murdered_ for—and now I have to spend every day wondering if I'm gonna make it home to let my dog out," Sean says, lifting up his fake beard slightly to scratch at his chin.  
  
Before they can say anything else, a loud church bell clangs three times, echoing throughout the park. Another man Dean hasn't met yet pokes his head into the barn, a giant smile spread across his face.  
  
"Gentlemen! M'lady," he says, reaching out and taking Sadie's hand. "Time to greet the day!"   
  
Sadie giggles, and the man leads her outside.  
  
Dean looks questioningly at Alex. "Luke," he says by way of explanation. "He takes his job really seriously."  
  
" _Too_ seriously," Cam adds, getting to his feet and adjusting his hat. He claps Dean once more on the shoulder as he passes. "Welcome to Amish Country, dude."  
  
Sean follows quickly behind Cam and nudges Dean with his elbow. “Last one standing wins.”


	2. Chapter 2

Dean spends the morning planting actual vegetables with Alex while everyone else goes about their business. He tries to keep an eye on all of the actors while looking out for anything suspicious, but keeping tabs on the group while working ends up being harder than expected. He and Alex are constantly interrupted by guest questions—most of which Alex fields until Dean can get more acclimated to what responses qualify as "appropriate answers"—and they have to keep their heads down whenever someone tries to snap a picture. Dean isn’t aware of this, and the first time it happens, Alex has to forcibly shove Dean's head down.  
  
"Amish people don't get their pictures taken," he says softly as they both look at the ground.  
  
"Are you kidding me?"  
  
"It was in your orientation packet."  
  
Dean pauses, remembering the packet that he tossed on the other side of his bed before indulging in a  _Dr. Sexy_ marathon for the night.  
  
"Right. Forgot."  
  
Alex makes a humming noise in affirmation. "It's a lot to remember, especially on the first day."  
  
“How long did it take you to get everything down?” Dean asks, digging a small plot of dirt and tossing in some seeds.  
  
“Not too long. I was a history major, though, so I don’t mind this stuff. It’s kind of why I took the job.”  
  
They both look up when someone asks, “What’cha planting?”  
  
A little boy is standing at the fence, looking curiously at them. When he takes a long gulp of his soda, Dean suddenly realizes how thirsty he is. Alex glances at Dean and holds up a finger before turning back to the boy.  
  
“My brother and I are planting seeds for some vegetables, so we can be prepared for the winter months.”  
  
The boy frowns. “Vegetables suck.”  
  
Dean nods. “I hear ya, kid.” Alex elbows Dean hard in the side, and Dean bites back a curse. “I...uh, vegetables make you strong, and it’s important for us to be strong for...farming?” He glances at Alex, who nods. “Yeah, for farming.”  
  
“Come on, Jonah,” a woman Dean assumes is the kid’s mother says, gently pushing her son forward. “Let the Amish men finish their planting.”  
  
“Good luck with your vegetables,” Jonah says, taking another sip of his soda.  
  
“Thank you kindly, young sir,” Alex says, tipping his hat at Jonah, who smiles widely at the recognition.  
  
When they’re out of earshot, Dean raises his eyebrows, impressed. “You’re not bad at this.”  
  
Alex shrugs. “History degree and three years of improv classes will do wonders when you work at Real Life History!, I guess.” He tries to play it off as no big deal, but Dean can tell that the kid is secretly pleased by the compliment.  
  
“Dean! Alexander!” Dean looks up to see Luke smiling broadly at them, thumbs hooked in his suspenders. “You’re needed in the barn.”  
  
“Lunch break,” Alex says quietly, getting to his feet and dusting off his pants.  
  
Dean does the same and follows Alex toward the barn. Those first few hours weren’t so bad; he can absolutely handle this. 

* * *

Sam stares through the windshield, his arms draped limply over the steering wheel as he edges the rental car along at a measly five miles per hour. He’s been stuck behind an Amish buggy for the past mile and a half, and his normally ample patience is wearing thin. He smirks, wondering how Dean would handle this situation.  
  
The Lancaster General Store finally appears on Sam’s right, and he’s more than relieved to be able to turn off the street and into the dirt parking lot as the horse and buggy ambles along.   
  
A small bell dings above his head as he pushes the door open, and a short man with a wide, friendly smile greets Sam from behind the counter.   
  
“Afternoon, son,” he says, nodding at Sam. “How can I help you?”  
  
“Uh, hi,” Sam says, wandering up to the counter. He raps his knuckles on the wood then flashes the man his most subtle puppy dog eyes. “I’m a History major over at Franklin and Marshall, and I’m writing a paper on Amish history in the area. I was wondering if I could ask you a few questions?”  
  
“Sure,” the man says. “Not sure how much help I’ll be, but I’ll do the best I can.”  
  
Sam flashes him a grateful smile. “‘s all I ask.” He pulls out a small notebook and pen and starts in with a few run-of-the-mill questions, things he could easily find the answers to on Google. Then he jumps into his last question, hoping that he’s done enough padding that the man won’t think it’s too odd of a jump. “So, uh, I guess my last question is if you could tell me anything about how the Amish would react to somebody doing something that’s...disapproved of.”  
  
The man frowns. “I...well, we tend to try and forgive as much as possible, like the Lord would want, but there are a handful of things a person can do that are generally unforgivable.”  
  
“What would those be?”  
  
“The first one that comes to mind is renouncing the faith. Leaving the church.”  
  
Sam nods. “Like if a teenager decides to stay out in the English world after their rumspringa, as opposed to coming back home, right?”  
  
The man nods. “Exactly like that. If a young person chooses to leave, for the most part they’re not welcome in their family or the church anymore. The same thing happens if someone decides to marry outside the faith.”   
  
"Does that happen often?"  
  
The man shrugs. "I can remember a handful of people leaving over the years since I was young, maybe five or six, but they don't leave in droves, no. We’re a very tight-knit community. People born Amish tend to stay Amish, more often than not.”  
Sam purses his lips, trying to think of the best, least-suspicious way to word his next question. "Has there been anyone who didn't acclimate well to the outside world? Would you have any way of knowing that?"  
  
He shakes his head. “Not that I can think of, no. Once someone leaves the faith, they’re usually not heard from again. They might be seen in town every so often if we need to stop in and pick up supplies that aren’t readily available here, and they look all right, but there’s no acknowledgement or catching up that happens.”  
  
“I can think of someone who didn’t acclimate well.” Sam turns around to see another man, taller than the man behind the counter, approach them from the back of the store. “Eli Thomas. Boy never had a chance to.”  
  
Sam perks up almost instantly at the mysteriousness of the man’s statement. “Eli Thomas?”  
  
“Ed,” the other man says, drawing his name out as if in a warning.  
  
“C’mon, Daniel,” Ed says, clapping Sam on the back as he passes. “Tell the boy what he wants to know.”  
  
Daniel glances at Sam, who flashes him his best reassuring smile.  
  
“It’s not exactly the proudest moment in the history of the Lancaster Amish,” Daniel admits, shifting back and forth on his feet, “but way back in the early 1900s, a young man named Eli Thomas had made arrangements to marry a girl by the name of Rebecca Petersham. The only problem was that Rebecca wasn’t a part of the Amish community, and Eli had made the decision to leave the faith to be with her.”  
  
Sam nods, encouraging Daniel to continue. “His family was heartbroken, of course, but Eli couldn’t be swayed. He loved that girl, and nothing was going to change his mind. Unfortunately, that didn’t seem to sit well with a few other members of the church.” Daniel swallows hard then finishes the story. “A couple of nights after he made his announcement, he and Rebecca were killed. They killed her in front of him, then shot him to death.”  
  
Sam’s heart sinks. “Jesus.”  
  
Daniel and Ed both look down uncomfortably, and Sam immediately recognizes his mistake. “Oh, sorry. I didn’t mean--”  
  
Ed waves him off. “It’s fine, son. You were surprised.”  
  
Sam shakes his head. “That’s awful.”  
  
Daniel nods solemnly. “They were never able to find out who was responsible. It’s a pretty black mark on our history around here.”  
  
“I’m sorry.” Sam pauses, trying to sift through all the information he was just given. “Rebecca and Eli,” he says slowly, “were they allowed to be buried together?”  
  
Ed shakes his head. “Eli was cremated.”  
  
Sam tilts his head. “I thought the Amish didn’t believe in cremation.”  
  
“As a whole, they don’t,” Ed answers, “but this was a bit of a...special case, I guess you could say. The church wouldn’t let him be buried in an Amish cemetery, but they let his parents make the final decision on how he would be laid to rest otherwise.”  
  
“So only Rebecca was buried?”  
  
Ed nods, and Daniel looks thoughtful before snapping his fingers. “I think I’ve still got the newspaper article from when it happened. My parents saved it.”   
  
Sam can feel his eyes widen, but he tries not to act too desperate. “Really? Do you think I could take a look at it?”  
  
“Sure. Hold on.” With that, Daniel disappears into the back room, returning a few minutes later with a thick book in hand. As he flips through the book, Sam notices that each one has a faded article or snipping of a headline pressed between the pages.  
  
“Scrapbook?” he asks, nodding toward the book.  
  
Daniel keeps his eyes on the pages, but nods as he keeps flipping, trying to find the one he wants. “My father wrote articles for  _The Budget_ , an Amish newspaper,” he explains. “My mother saved each one he wrote and put them in this book, and I’m almost certain he wrote about Eli and Rebecca.” As if on cue, he taps the next page a few times and gently lifts the faded article from the book. “Here we go.”  
  
“Perfect, thank you so much,” Sam says as he takes the paper and skims the article quickly.  
  
“No trouble. Hope it’s readable; that ink’s older than I am.”  
  
Sam laughs politely, then slides the article into his notebook. “Thank you,” he says again. “I’ll be sure to give you guys proper credit on my works cited page.”  
  
Ed and Daniel laugh, and they wave after Sam as he leaves the general store. 

                                                                                                                 

* * *

Dean takes it all back--he’s not sure he can handle any of this.   
  
After lunch, he spends a good portion of the afternoon learning to churn butter with Sadie, and then is assigned to feed duty for the animals. Real Life History! isn’t a petting zoo; the only animals in Amish Adventure are a baby pig, two cows, and a few ducks and chickens, but it’s enough to get the illusion across, according to Ted.  
  
And if hours of butter churning aren’t enough, he’s convinced he hears something crack when he straightens himself up, a large bucket of oats in each of his hands, the metal handles already digging into his palms. His body keeps teetering from one side to the other as he tries to transport the buckets without incident, but it’s proving harder than he expected.  
  
“Son of a bitch,” he mutters as he struggles to keep his balance. He staggers slowly across the main section of Amish Adventure, hoping that he’s far enough in the background that nobody will bother to pay any attention to him.  
  
The cows finally come into Dean’s line of vision, and he picks up his pace a tiny bit more, doing his best waddling penguin impression to get there as fast as he can.  
  
He makes it to the food trough, balanced against the fence, which is lined on the other side with bushes,. He places one bucket on the ground and has just started pouring in the grains from the other bucket, head down, when a chorus of screams echoes out from the bushes. The screams are immediately followed by three teenage boys jumping out of the bushes toward him, and Dean startles, biting back a colorful string of curses as he drops the bucket and the remaining oats are scattered all over the ground.   
  
“You dropped somethin’!” one of the boys shouts, grinning widely at Dean. Dean looks down at the ground and tries to ignore them. He starts shifting the oats into a pile with his boot so he can start scooping them up.  
  
“ _Look out_!” all three boys suddenly yell together, startling Dean again.  
  
Dean’s not the only one who was spooked by the sudden noise; the pig goes scampering away, and Dean glances down just in time to avoid tripping over it, but in an attempt to dodge the pig, he forgets about the stupid fucking second bucket of oats. His foot catches on it and he stumbles backward, falling in an ungainly sprawl to the mud.  
  
The boys burst into hysterics on the other side of the fence, delighting in Dean’s predicament. He glares at them as he slowly gets to his feet, being careful to avoid slipping in the mud and falling again. The cows moo in protest, apparently upset at the lack of food in their trough, which only makes the boys laugh harder.   
  
“Funny, boys. Funny,” Dean says lightly, scooping up the pig that’s returned and is trying to get at the cows’ food. He glances around to make sure none of his new coworkers are within view, then mouths  _Fuck you_.  
  
The boys aren’t expecting this, and one of them gets particularly pissed. “Hey, fuck  _you_ , you no-talent asshole!”  
  
“Caleb!”  
  
The boys and Dean look over to see an angry middle-aged woman charging toward them. She glares at the three boys and grabs Caleb, the one who swore, firmly by the arm.  
  
“What have I told you about swearing during field trips? You’re supposed to be representing Calvin Coolidge High at all times!”  
  
“But Mrs. Henderson, he--” Caleb points at Dean, who puts on his best  _who, me?_ face and pretends to be preoccupied with settling down the pig.  
  
“I don’t want to hear it, young man. You three should’ve been with your group chaperone, not running around harassing poor…” She waves her hand, looking at Dean, “...Amish workers! Now let’s go.”  
  
Mrs. Henderson turns on her heel and starts off in the direction of the Roanoke Roundtable Food Court, expecting the boys to follow. They look back at Dean one more time, and he flips them off with a satisfied smirk.  
  
Once Dean’s changed out of his mud-splattered pants, he heads over to where Cam, Sean, and Alex are leaning against the wooden fence, gazing out into the park.  
  
Sean sees him approach and nods in greeting. “Heard about the cow incident,” he says, smirking down at Dean’s newly changed pants.  
  
“Shut up,” Dean mutters, taking up position next to Alex. The men burst into laughter and Cam claps him on the back.  
  
“Don’t worry about it. We’ve all had our share of that shit,” he says.  
  
“How’s your first day going, other than that?” Alex asks.  
  
Dean shrugs. “Not bad, I guess. Time goes by fast.”  
  
A small group of children with a bored-looking chaperone start walking by, and they switch tones.   
  
“Coming over for supper tonight?” Sean asks all of them. “Patricia’s making her famous apple pie for dessert.”  
  
“Looking forward to it. Carol and I will be over with the children by dusk,” Dean answers quickly.  
  
They continue to make Amish small talk until the group is back out of earshot; once they’re gone, the men resume their regular conversation.   
  
“Nice save, there,” Sean says. “You sound like a regular Amish man already.”  
  
“I try.”  
  
Another group--this one the definition of touristy--starts walking toward them. They see Dean, Alex, Cam, and Sean leaning against the fence, and one man wearing a  _Gilligan’s Island_ -style bucket hat turns and beckons excitedly, talking about how they should get their picture taken in front of the Amish men.  
  
“Oh, Christ,” Cam mutters, gripping the top of his hat and looking down as Bucket Hat starts trying to find someone to take a picture of his group, which just consists of himself and two older women wearing fanny packs and visors. He finally finds a less-than-enthusiastic girl in her mid-twenties, and as he hands her the oversized monstrosity of a camera he has strapped around his neck, Dean hears him say, “Be careful, now; Amish people don’t want to get their picture taken, or at least not have their faces shown in photos.” In a hushed voice, he adds, “It’s against their religion.”  
  
The girl takes his camera and rolls her eyes once the man’s turned his back to her. Cam, Sean, Dean, and Alex assume the positions of unassuming Amish men looking down at the ground. Dean glances up from under the brim of his hat, and at the very last second lifts his head up, gives the camera his best duck-face, and does that weird thing where he crosses one eye but not the other that creeps Sam out so much.  
  
He hears the girl try to stifle back a laugh, and once she lowers the camera, he cracks a grin and looks back down quickly before Bucket Hat notices that his head wasn’t down and makes them take another photo. 

* * *

When Dean gets back to the motel, Sam has all of his stuff spread out on the table in the kitchenette. He glances up when he hears the door open and nods Dean’s way.  
  
“How was your first day?”  
  
“Talk to me about it in a half hour,” Dean says, grabbing two beers from the fridge and handing one to his brother. He grabs the other chair and drops unceremoniously into it, cracking open the beer and taking a long swig. “Get anything good?”  
  
“Think so.” Sam closes his laptop with a click and pushes it off to the side. “I went down to the Lancaster General Store today, and the two guys working there told me that there was this murder that happened here back in the 1930s.”  
  
Dean considers his brother. “‘m listening.”  
  
“Eli Thomas and Rebecca Petersham. They were engaged, and Eli was going to leave the Amish to be with Rebecca. Apparently you get shunned from your family and the whole church if you leave the Amish, and a couple of people weren’t too happy that Eli was willing to do that.”  
  
“So they killed him.”  
  
“Yeah, but they made him watch them kill Rebecca first.”  
  
Dean raises his eyebrows.  
  
“They never found the killers,” Sam continues, shifting through a small pile of papers before pulling out the article Daniel had given him earlier and sliding it over to his brother. “Here. Read.”  
  
 _Double Homicide in Lancaster County_  
 _June 18, 1930_  
 _Two young people, a man and a woman, were found dead in the Lancaster Amish community yesterday. The bodies of Elijah Thomas and Rebecca Petersham were discovered early that morning, with no signs of who committed the crime. Petersham, who was not a member of the church, was badly beaten, and marks around her neck suggest strangulation as cause of death, which the autopsy will likely confirm. Thomas suffered multiple gunshot wounds before his death. Thomas, 23, and Petersham, 22, were recently engaged and had planned to marry in the near future. The community is devastated by the loss. The investigation into the murders is ongoing._  
  
Dean finishes reading and sets the paper down. “Jesus. I thought Amish people were supposed to be super-peaceful, kumbaya types?”  
  
“They are,” Sam says. “I’m pretty sure these guys were just dicks.”  
  
“So, couple’s murdered for no good reason, killers are never found, some ghost is running around ganking dudes they think are Amish. Vengeful spirit?”  
  
“Looks like.” Sam takes a sip of his beer before continuing. “And they told me that Eli was cremated, so--”  
  
“--so it’s Rebecca. Know where she was buried?”  
  
“Not yet. Burial records from the 1900s aren’t great, but I’ll work on it.” Sam chews thoughtfully on his bottom lip. “Can you check out historical accuracy at that place tomorrow?”  
  
Dean quirks an eyebrow. “Why?”  
  
“We’re surrounded by actual Amish people,” Sam says, spreading his arms wide to prove his point, “and this ghost goes after the fakes? There’s gotta be a reason. Maybe there’s something at the museum that Rebecca is attached to, or the museum was built where she and Eli were killed or something.”  
  
“Yeah, okay. I’ll see what I can find out.”  
  
Sam nods and opens his laptop. “Hopefully we’ll be good to go by tomorrow.”  
  
“Clear your schedule, Sammy,” Dean says, kicking his feet up onto the table and crossing them at the ankles. “We’re gonna burn some bones tomorrow night.”


	3. Chapter 3

The next day, Dean decides that it’s best to start his Sherlock Holmes routine early. He, Alex, and a few of the other regulars are lounging around in the barn that serves as their break room, waiting for the day to start, and Dean remembers a crucial piece of information that’ll make it easier for him to slip into this conversation.  
  
“Alex, you said you were a history major, right?”  
  
Alex looks over at Dean and nods.   
  
“So, how, uh, historically accurate would you say this place is?”  
  
“Historically accurate?” Alex repeats.  
  
“Yeah.” Dean shrugs. “I figured it must be really good if a history major wanted to work here. I dunno, just looking for some ways to pass the time. Plus, I kind of...didn’t do great in history, so maybe some of the stuff here’ll stick.”  _And I need to see if maybe there’s something here that a vengeful spirit has attached itself to, but don’t you worry about that._  
  
“You drop out, kid?” Cam asks. Dean’s noticed Cam has a tendency to call everyone ‘kid,’ even people his own age and older.  
  
“Fuck off,” Dean says good-naturedly, and Cam laughs.  
  
“You did, didn’t you?”  
  
“It’s not bad,” Alex says before Cam can shit on Dean for his limited run in academia any more. Dean gives him a quick nod in acknowledgement, which Alex returns. “I mean, sometimes teachers take their history classes here for field trips, so Ted likes for it to at least be semi-accurate so people can learn about cultures they might not be exposed to otherwise.”  
  
Dean smirks. “You sound like a brochure, dude.”  
  
Alex shrugs. “I do what I can.”  
  
“Did, uh, any of the Amish people give you guys stuff to use here? Like, as some kind of blessing, or gesture of good faith or something?”  
  
“Not that I know of. That’d be kind of cool, though, wouldn’t it? Having someth--”  
  
“ _I_ have something like that,” Sadie interrupts, stalking over and standing proudly between Alex and Dean.   
  
“Do you, Sadie,” Dean says, bored.  
  
“This.” She thrusts out her chest and pulls a plain silver necklace out from underneath her dress, playing with it between her fingers.  
  
Alex smirks and rolls his eyes. “Nice try, Sadie,” he says. “Amish women weren’t allowed to wear jewelry, so I doubt that thing’s real.”  
  
Sadie narrows her eyes and purses her lips before turning to Dean. “ _This_ necklace is different,” she says. “The man I bought it from told me it was a gift between two star-crossed lovers.”  
  
Dean pauses. “Wait, what?”  
  
Sadie nods, then clasps her hands together dramatically. “He said that an Amish man back in the 30s gave it to his girlfriend before they died. How  _romantic_ is that?”  
  
“Yeah,” Dean says distractedly, digging around in his pocket for his phone. “So romantic. Uh, Sadie, tell me--where’d you find it? My girlfriend’s birthday is coming up; she’d love something like that.” He flashes her the most charming smile he can, hoping she’ll buy the lie.  
  
“The antique shop downtown,” she tells him.  
  
Dean nods, then unlocks his phone and holds up a finger. “Great. Be right back.” He gets to his feet and heads outside, Sam’s number already punched in.  
  
“Yeah?”  
  
“Dude, antique shop downtown,” Dean whispers.  
  
“What about it?”  
  
“I need you to go there and ask about a silver necklace. A chick working here with me just said she bought it there, and that it was given to a girl by her Amish boyfriend before they both died. What’re the chances that it’s Rebecca’s?” While he waits for Sam’s answer, Dean glances over his shoulder to make sure no one is nearby who could have overheard his conversation.  
  
“Pretty damn good. I’ll let you know,” Sam says quickly before hanging up.

* * *

  
When Dean checks his phone behind the barn at lunchtime, he has one text from Sam:  
  
 _Get it_  
  
He pockets his phone and worries his lower lip, trying to figure out the best way to steal the necklace. He doubts Sadie considers it a prop and probably wears it constantly--it’s a damn nice necklace, regardless of what century you’re living in--so she won’t be leaving it in her locker at the end of the day for easy grabs.  
  
Taking a deep breath and hoping that his lying skills aren’t too rusty, he ambles over to Sadie, who’s showing a young girl with pigtails how to embroider her name in a handkerchief.   
  
“Afternoon, Sadie,” he says, tipping his hat and smiling at the little girl. “I don’t mean to intrude, but I was just wondering if I could borrow you for a second?”  
  
“Of course!” Sadie says, smiling brightly at him. She sets the embroidery down, assures the little girl that she’ll be right back, and follows Dean toward the barn.   
  
“Sorry to mess up your workday,” he says quickly, “but I was just wondering if I could borrow your necklace after work today? I’m not coming in till one tomorrow, and I’d love to stop at the antique shop before work and show them just what I’m looking for.”  
  
“Oh.” Sadie’s still smiling, but her expression falters a bit at Dean’s request. “I don’t know…”  
  
“I promise I’ll bring it back, safe and sound.” Dean smiles at her again. “I just know it’d be perfect, it’s exactly what I’m looking for. I just don’t want to let it pass me by, y’know? It’ll be yours again in no time.”  
  
Sadie still looks hesitant, but she concedes. “By tomorrow?”  
  
“By tomorrow.”  
  
Sadie nods, reaches behind her neck and unclasps the necklace, then drops it into Dean’s open palm. “Don’t make me have to report you to Ted,” she says. She tries to make it sound like a joke, but with how serious she seems to take every single aspect of the job, Dean wouldn’t be surprised if she did.  
  
“Thanks, Sadie.”

* * *

  
When Dean gets back to the motel, Sam’s on his bed in his suit, his tie loosened and sleeves pushed up to the elbows, arms folded across his chest. His laptop is next to him, opened to a page about local cemeteries. His eyes are closed, and Dean almost feels bad having to wake him up.  
  
“So it was Rebecca’s?”  
  
Sam startles and opens his eyes, looking blearily over at Dean. “Huh? Oh, uh, yeah. Yeah, it was.” He sits up, rubbing his eyes with the heel of his palm. “Guy said her folks sold it to his grandfather after she and Eli were killed, and it’s been there since it was bought it a few months ago.”  
  
Dean flops down onto his own bed and frowns, tucking an extra pillow under his head. “So this is essentially Sadie’s fault.”  
  
“Who?”  
  
“The chick who bought the necklace in the first place, dude; pay attention.” Dean smirks.   
  
Sam flips him off. “Jerk.”  
  
“Bitch.”  
  
Sam leans on an elbow and types a few more things into his laptop before looking up at Dean. “You got it, though, right?”  
  
Dean digs into his pocket and pulls out the necklace, letting the silver dangle from his fingers. “You find the cemetery?”  
  
Sam turns his laptop around to show Dean the Google Maps directions he’s pulled up. “Lakeside, ten minutes away.”  
  
“It’s a date, then.” He downs the rest of his beer then gets to his feet. “You want food before or after the field trip?”

* * *

Dean wasn’t lying about  _everything_ in his conversation with Sadie; he really isn’t scheduled to come in to work until one the next day. He doesn’t want to--he just wants to sleep in then make a beeline for the nearest IHOP before leaving town--but Sam insists, just as a precaution to make sure everything was taken care of before they head out.  
  
Dean can see flashing police lights as he approaches Real Life History!, and his stomach drops.   
  
“ _Shit_.” He drives as far as he can--the parking lot is taped off--before climbing out of the Impala and heading to the entrance, trying to find Ted, Alex, anybody who can tell him what the hell is going on.  
  
“Dean!”  
  
Dean spins and sees Alex heading toward him, winding his way between the police officers, EMTs, and a scattering of newspaper reporters who have already pounced on whatever is happening. Alex looks shaken, almost like he’s about to throw up, and Dean rushes forward to meet him halfway.  
  
“Dude, what the hell’s going on?” Dean asks.  
  
“Sean’s dead,” Alex bites out quickly, and Dean closes his eyes. “Ted tried to call you, but he said your phone was disconnected. They found him earlier this morning.”  
  
“What?” He scrubs a hand over his mouth and looks over Alex’s shoulder toward the park. “What happened? Who found him?”  
  
“Cam, over behind the barn.” Alex shakes his head. “He was shot to death, dude.”  
  
“Jesus.”  
  
“I know.”  
  
“Do they think it’s being done by the same person who...?”  
  
Alex nods. “So far. Everything matches, according to the police.”  
  
“Fuck.” Dean runs his fingers through his hair and tries to keep his mind in check as it flies through what he and Sam could have missed. “Do we, um, is there anyone we’re supposed to...talk to?”  
  
“Not right now, probably later, though; that’s the way it was when the other murders happened. I think Ted’s still trying to wrap his mind around things. It usually takes him a while to get everything together.”  
  
Dean hates that Ted now has a routine when it comes to dealing with his employees being murdered.   
  
“Okay, well, have Ted call me at this number if he needs me to come in for anything.” Dean digs into his pocket, pulls out a scrap piece of paper, scribbles his most recent cell number on it, and hands it to Alex. “Are you okay? You sticking around, or need a ride home or anything?”  
  
Alex shakes his head, but he looks pale and nervous. Dean claps a hand on his shoulder and looks into his eyes. “You sure?”  
  
Alex sighs. “I...yeah. It’s just, I wish they’d figure out who the hell keeps doing this. Before everyone who works here is…” He trails off, and Dean doesn’t make him finish.   
  
“They will,” he says firmly. “Trust me.” He studies Alex for a few more seconds. “You sure you’re okay?”  
  
“Yeah. No, yeah, I’ll be fine. Thanks, Dean.”  
  
Dean nods, pats his shoulder again, then starts to head back toward the Impala. “Call me if you need to.”  
  


                                                                                                             

* * *

Sam startles when Dean barges into the motel room.  
  
“Dude, what’re you--”  
  
“Someone else was killed.” Dean heads for the closet, where Sam had hung up his fed suit from the other day. “You need to go down there and start asking questions. Now.”  
  
“I... _what_?”  
  
“Another guy I work with was found dead this morning. Sean.”  
  
“That’s impossible.”  
  
“You think I don’t know that?” Dean presses the suit into Sam’s hands then heads for the laptop. “We must’ve missed something. Go. I’ll start going over everything else.”  
  
Sam hurriedly gets himself dressed, looking more like he’s just walked out of a bar than a federal bureau, and grabs the keys to the Impala on the way out.  
  
“Let me know if you find anything,” he says over his shoulder, and moments later, Dean’s alone.  
  
  
A few hours later, Dean’s gone back to Real Life History! to get interviewed, and has found next to nothing on what he and Sam could’ve missed. His forehead is resting against the table and his arms are dangling down at his sides when Sam returns.  
  
“Anything?” Sam asks. Dean can hear the fridge being opened and the clink of bottles.   
  
“Nothing we didn’t have before,” Dean says into the table. He feels Sam tap his temple with one of the beers, and he makes a blind grab for it before lifting his head up entirely. “What the hell, Sam?”  
  
Sam shakes his head, grabbing the computer and rolling up his sleeves. “I couldn’t get much of anything down at the park, either. Your boss is a wreck, but he wants to reopen tomorrow if they can. Business as usual, I guess.”  
  
Dean takes a deep breath. “I guess.”  
  
Sam takes a sip of his beer, then looks at Dean. “We need you to go back, man.”  
  
“Yeah, I figured.” Dean rubs at his eyes again with a yawn. “Just how I wanted to spend another day. And still no fuckin’ IHOP for me, then.”  
  
“Not yet, dude.” Sam shrugs apologetically. “I’ll stay here, keep looking, and we’ll find whatever’s happening. Maybe she’s attached to another object or something. Maybe we burned the wrong Rebecca Petersham, or someone working there bound her to them and is making her kill people.”  
  
“Wonderful.” Dean downs the rest of his beer and grabs the pile of takeout menus stacked on the counter. “What d’you want for dinner? And a midnight snack.”  
  
Sam looks up at him and quirks an eyebrow. “Midnight snack before seven at night?”  
  
“‘s gonna be a long night, Sammy.”

* * *

"Your beard is stupid."  
  
Dean grips the handle of his rake tighter and grits his teeth. He's exhausted and has enough to worry about, trying to keep track of where everyone is and who might be putting together a killing spell or binding a spirit during their lunch break, and he’s had about enough of this kid's shit for the next ten years.   
  
Plastering on his most pleasant smile and taking a deep breath, Dean turns to face the kid who's been goading him on for the past half hour, a snot-nosed little punk with spiked hair and a T-shirt of a band Dean's never heard of, but he's already convinced they suck.  
  
"My beard shows that I've entered adulthood, and that I'm dedicated to my loving wife," he recites, leaning against the fence separating him from the cluster of kids, trying to look natural and relaxed.  
  
"Your wife's ugly," the kid says, and Dean doesn't know why he feels the need to defend his nonexistent wife from this little preteen asshole.  
  
"My wife is beautiful," Dean says. "She gave me four beautiful kids, and she's inside taking care of them right n—"  
  
Dean's cut off when the kid throws a plastic water bottle that thunks lightly off Dean's head. The boy grins widely, knowing that Dean can't retaliate. Dean clenches and unclenches his fists, then picks up the water bottle.  
  
"You dropped this," he says steadily, holding it out to the kid. "We don't take kindly to littering here."  
  
The kid smacks Dean's hand away. "I didn't litter; I threw it in with the rest of the trash."  
  
Before he can think, Dean lunges forward and grips the fence posts tightly; it's all he can do not to reach further and grab a fistful of the kid's fucking stupid T-shirt, too.   
  
"Listen up, you little dick," Dean hisses, "I've never punched a kid before, but I swear to God—"  
  
"Dean!" a voice shouts out from behind him, and Dean feels someone clap their hands on his shoulders. Alex is standing behind him, his eyes wide and smile tight. "Brother, we've got some cows to milk. Why don't you follow me, and we can get it done before dusk."   
  
Dean doesn't say anything, just allows himself to be led away from the kids, his shoulders heaving.  
  
"Pussy!" the kid yells after him.  
  
"You son of a—" Dean turns on his heel and would've throttled the kid right there if Alex hadn't been there to hold him back and drag him into the barn, where they're out of sight of the kids.  
  
"Dude, what the fuck?" Alex says, releasing Dean and adjusting his own hat and fake beard.   
  
"Little fucker’s been harassing me all afternoon," Dean snaps, digging the heels of his hands into his eyes in frustration.  
  
"You can't  _threaten_ guests, Dean."  
  
Dean gapes at Alex. "He threw a water bottle at me!"  
  
It's probably the lightest attack that Dean's ever undergone, but Alex doesn't need to know that.  
  
“Some woman wanted a picture of me holding her baby last week, and I ended up getting fucking thrown up on!” Alex interrupts. “My second day on the job was Halloween, and a drunk chick threw her beer bottle at me because she thought I was a ghost.”  
  
Dean raises his eyebrows. “Seriously?”  
  
“I still have the scar, dude.” Alex worries his lower lip and sighs. “Listen, I know it’s rough, coming back so soon after everything with Sean, and I’m not trying to be little Mr. Do-Gooder here. Trust me, if I didn’t need this job, I’d kick that kid’s ass all the way to the fuckin’ Pilgrim Platoon. But I’ve got college loans I’ll be paying off til I’m 40, so I’m kind of screwed at the moment. You know?”  
  
Dean huffs out a laugh. “Yeah, I gotcha. Sorry, man. This is my first time working a gig where I had to...worry about being fired, so it’s just taking some getting used to.”  
  
Alex tilts his head at Dean. “What kind of job do you not have to worry about being fired from?”  
  
Dean opens his mouth to answer, then shrugs. “Family business.”  
  
“Ah.”  
  
“Yeah. I mean, it definitely had its pros,” Dean says, turning away and taking a few steps further into the barn, “but a helluva lot of cons, too. Lot of travel, lot of dealing with people who are…less than awesome.”  
  
Behind him, Alex doesn’t respond, so Dean continues.  
  
“I don’t even know why I’m dumping all this shit on you, you’re not a therapist or anything.” Dean shrugs. “I guess it’s just one of those things where you need to…voice your concerns, or whatever.” He chuckles. “My brother’s always on my ass about expressing my feelings, and here I am doing it with someone I’ve only known for a few days. Sorry, man.”  
  
The lack of response this time makes Dean pause, and when he turns around, Alex is nowhere to be found.  
  
“ _Shit_ ,” he breathes. “Alex?”  
  
His hand goes to  where his gun usually is, and he curses internally when he realizes that the Amish don’t carry guns, so therefore Dean Porter is going into this without any form of backup. He goes for his pocket instead, pulls out his cell phone, and dials Sam’s number.  
  
"Hey." Sam's voice is a little rough, as if Dean's just woken him up from a nap. Lazy bastard. "What's up?"  
  
“Sammy,” he says softly, urgently. “I’m at the museum; I think we’ve got a probl—”  
  
Dean turns around just in time to seea shovel swinging toward him. The metal clangs against his skull before he can react, and he crumples, unconscious before he hits the ground.  
  
The last thing he sees is his phone in the dirt next to him. A tinny, now completely alert version of Sam's voice echoes through the speaker, yelling his brother's name.

* * *

  
“Dean? Dean! Fuck, fuck, fuck.” Sam drops the phone onto the motel room’s kitchen table and scrubs a hand over his mouth. He tries to focus on something, anything he and Dean could have missed, when he remembers someone he could talk to again; he grabs his jacket off the back of the chair and rushes toward the Impala, preparing to make a beeline for the general store.  
  
  
“Hey! You’re back!” Ed thumps his palm on the counter and grins delightedly at Sam, and Sam thinks maybe  no one has come into the general store since Sam left it a few days ago.  
  
“Yeah,” Sam says distractedly. “Can you tell me if you have anything else related to Eli and Rebecca? Anything at all? It’s important.”  
  
Ed pauses, chews on his lip thoughtfully. “Well, not too many people know about this, but one of my cousins lives out in Ohio, and he told me that Eli was buried out there.”  
  
Sam’s jaw drops. “In Ohio?” he repeats. “I thought you said he was cremated.”  
  
“That’s what they told everyone, so I figured it’d be good enough for your paper, historical accuracy and all that.” He shrugs. “Eli’s family had his remains brought to Ohio because that’s where his family’s plot is, but they didn’t want the scorn of the church over their heads for burying him with the family because he was about to leave the faith, even though he hadn’t actually left it before he died. They used cremation as an out to do what they wanted without any backlash.”  
  
Sam runs his hand through his hair and grips the counter hard, trying to keep his growing panic under control.  
  
“Okay,” he says, more to himself than to Ed. “Okay. What cemetery in Ohio? Do you know the name of it?”  
  
“Biggest one in Ohio is Grassy Point; if I had to guess, I’d say he’s there.”  
  
“Grassy Point. Okay.” His mind is going a mile a minute as he heads for the door. He’s about to leave when he turns around quickly and thanks Ed one more time.  
  
“Hope everything’s all right,” Ed calls after him.  
  
“Yeah, me, too,” Sam mutters.  
  
Sam almost dislocates his knee with how quickly he folds himself into the car, but in the span of the five minutes it takes him to get back to the motel, he thinks he’s figured out a plan. Once he gets inside and makes sure the door is locked, he sits down onto the bed, closes his eyes, and starts to pray.  
  
“Sam?”  
  
Sam’s eyes shoot open and he stares at Castiel, who has just appeared in the motel’s kitchen.   
  
“Cas!” He jumps to his feet, runs over to the slightly confused angel, and envelops him in a relieved hug.  
  
Cas looks at him for a few seconds once he’s been released. “Is everything all--”  
  
“I need you to get me to Ohio,” Sam says. “Grassy Point Cemetery. Right now.”  
  
“But--”  
  
“ _Now_ , Cas, please.”  
  
“Where’s Dean?”  
  
“He’s being held captive by the ghost we came here to get rid of, and he’s gonna be dead if you don’t get me to that cemetery so I can burn the ghost’s bones!” Sam doesn’t mean to snap, he really doesn’t, but he’s not sure how long people go missing for before the ghost kills them off. For all he knows, Dean could be dead already.  
  
Sam’s terseness doesn’t seem to bother Cas, who doesn’t waste any more time before pressing his fingers to Sam’s forehead. The next thing Sam knows, they’re standing in the middle of one of the most desolate cemeteries he’s ever seen. The sky is gray and dismal, and it looks like it’ll start downpouring any second, so Sam kicks his search into high gear.  
  
“We need to find Elijah Thomas’ grave,” Sam tells Cas, winding his way through the chipped, unassuming gravestones. He curses the Amish for their desire for plainness; every marker looks exactly the same, and he quickly loses track of which ones he’s checked and which ones he hasn’t.   
  
“Sam!” Cas’ voice echoes from a few feet away, and Sam’s head shoots up. He can see Cas standing five or six rows ahead of him. “I think I found him.”  
  
Sam runs to Cas, clearing over markers like an Olympic hurdler until he’s by the angel’s side. The marker Cas is standing in front of is old and weather-beaten; “Elijah Thomas” is etched into the stone, as well as “1907-1930” underneath that.  
Sam drops his duffel full of supplies and digs through it until he finds his and Dean’s foldable shovels. He holds Dean’s out to Cas.  
  
“C’mon, we’ve gotta hurry.”


	4. Chapter 4

"…Dean? Jesus, what the fuck, man, what the fuck…"  
  
Dean's chin is resting against his chest, and he squeezes his eyes shut tighter with a small moan. His head is pounding, and the last thing he wants to deal with is somebody trying to make conversation with him.   
  
"Dean? Hey, come on, man, I…help here…"  
  
Dean lifts his chin up slowly, opens his eyes even more so. "Wha—" His vision is still blurry, as if he's looking at everything underwater. His head is pounding, and Sam’s voice immediately floats into his head:  _Dude, we really need to stop getting knocked out so much, we’re gonna get brain damage..._  
  
"Hey, can you hear me?"  
  
"Mmmnh."  
  
"Dean."   
  
He feels someone kick the side of his calf, and he grimaces. He looks in the direction of where the kick came from, and spots Alex. His wrists are tied above his head, the toes of his boots barely scraping against the floor. He's staring at Dean with wide, terrified eyes, and Dean swallows hard when he realizes that he's in the same position.  
  
"Fuck," he mutters, looking up and testing the strength of his own bonds. He glances over at Alex again, who looks like he'd be doing a bit better if he had a paper bag to hyperventilate into. "What do you remember?"  
  
Alex takes a deep breath and closes his eyes. "You were pissed off about some kid, and then telling me about…your old job, I think. I felt something smack me in the back of the head, and then I woke up." Alex pulls against the rope weakly. "Jesus, Dean, what's going on?"  
  
Dean chews on the inside of his cheek as he weighs his options. If he tells Alex the truth, he'll think he's crazy and maybe even pass out again. If he acts like he has no idea what's happening, then he won't be of any use to either of them when it comes to getting out of here.  
  
"Okay, this is gonna sound nuts, but you need to believe me, and you’ve gotta stay calm."  
  
Alex nods.  
  
"You know all those…issues with people going missing?"  
  
"Yeah."  
  
"I think that's happening to us."  
  
Alex lets out an involuntary whimper, but stays conscious. "We're gonna die," he breathes.  
  
"No," Dean says firmly. "We're gonna get out of this." He grits his teeth as his arms start to burn under the pressure of being in one position for so long.  
  
"How do you know?" Alex's voice is rising as his panic increases.  
  
"Because that's the whole reason I'm here," Dean says, a bit more sharply than he meant to.  
  
Alex gapes at him. "You…what?"  
  
Dean hates this part of the job. All the explaining and trying not to get frustrated with people not knowing the shit that's running around in the night, and then acting like  _he's_ the crazy one.  
  
"That family business I mentioned?"  
  
"Yeah…"  
  
Dean sighs. "It's hunting ghosts."  
  
Alex stares at him for a few seconds, then laughs. "You're not serious. You're still disoriented. Ghosts aren't real."  
  
"Fine, don’t believe me." But Dean wracks his brain for an example to make Alex give him the benefit of the doubt, at the  _very_ least. "Remember the other day when Sadie was telling us about her star-crossed lovers necklace?"  
  
Alex nods slowly.  
  
"I kind of...destroyed it."  
  
" _Dude_!"  
  
"Shut up," Dean says quickly, and Alex snaps his mouth shut. "It belonged to this chick, Rebecca Petersham. Long story short, she got axed back in the 1900s, but her spirit was still here because it was tied to that necklace. I grabbed it, my brother and I destroyed it, so boom, no more ghost."  
  
"T-then why are we here?"  
  
Dean bites his lip, wishing he knew the answer to that question. "We must've missed something."  
  
Alex takes a deep breath. "Say I believe you," he says, "and all this is true." He looks at Dean, who nods. "How are you gonna fix that you missed something if you're stuck here?"  
  
"You remember seeing an FBI guy wandering around the park? My brother. I called him right before I got knocked out, and I think I dropped enough info for him to put some puzzle pieces together. He's a smart kid. Went to Stanford; he'll be able to figure it out."  
  
Alex raises his eyebrows. "Stanford was my first choice. I got rejected."  
  
Dean barks out a laugh at that, at this whole situation: being knocked out and trussed up by some  _bonus_ Amish ghost and discussing college choices with his coworker.  
  
"Fuck them, man," he says. "You're better than Stanf— _uck_!" Dean cuts himself off when a fist crashes into his jaw.  
  
He looks up, dazed, and waits a few seconds until the four men in front of him morph back into one. Dean shakes his head to try and stop the room from spinning, and he hears Alex's panicked voice.  
  
"Dean! Are you o—"  
  
"Quiet."  
  
The man turns his attention back to Dean, who looks him up and down. He's wearing simple black pants held up by suspenders, a plain white button-up shirt, and a wide-brimmed hat.  
  
"You," he says, glaring at Dean, his voice full of venom. "You're the one who took Rebecca from me."  
  
Dean watches as a puff of his own breath materializes in front of him, then gives the man a lopsided grin. "So I guess it's safe to say you're Eli, huh, champ?"  
  
The spirit glares at Dean then punches him again, this time in the stomach. Dean grunts in pain before straightening himself up as much as he can. He grits his teeth, trying to ignore the burning sensation that's resumed running up his arms.  
  
"You and your wife were  _killing_ people," Dean says, breathing hard. "Sorry, but I can’t let you keep up that little hobby."  
  
" _They_ killed  _us_ ," Eli says. "For being in love."  
  
"And that's fifty different kinds of fucked up," Dean agrees, "but that's not  _our_ fault. The people who killed you are  _dead_  themselves. Why don't you just float on up to heaven and take it out on them?"  
  
"They killed me and my wife for an infraction against the faith, and they got away with it. They lived free, while Rebecca and I rotted in the ground. You," he says, pointing at Dean and then Alex, "and the other men, are running around and breaking rules without the slightest penalization, and I get killed for mine." Eli shakes his head. "No. It's not acceptable."  
  
Dean chances a glance at Alex, who's staring at Eli, mouth slack and eyes wide.  
  
"We—what?" Dean asks.  
  
"Foul language," Eli says. "Using cellular phones. Tattoos. Partaking in alcohol." Eli stares hard at Dean.  
  
Dean stares right back, trying to process everything Eli just said as quickly as possible. "I…you…listen, Farmer Dave, we can do that shit; we're  _not Amish_!"  
  
Eli steps forward and punches Dean hard enough that his head snaps back. "Lying."  
  
Dean opens his mouth to retort, but he's not particularly fond of the idea of getting his face kicked in again, so he tries to figure out where Eli is coming from with this.  
  
"We're pretending," Dean says. "This is just a museum. We're showing people how the Amish live."  
  
Eli grabs a fistful of Dean's shirt and leans up close. "Don't you lie to me again," he says quietly. "Don't you dare."  
  
"I'm not lyi—"  
  
Eli grips Dean's shirt harder before shoving him back. "Fine. I want to see how you like it when someone you care about is gone." With that, he pulls an old-fashioned looking gun out from the back of his pants and aims it at Alex.  
  
Dean yells right as Eli pulls the trigger, and Alex cries out in pain as the bullet embeds itself in what Dean hopes is his shoulder, and not somewhere closer to his heart. Alex slumps in his restraints, his eyes closed.   
  
 _Not dead,_ Dean forces himself to think.  _Not dead. Just unconscious._  
  
"You son of a bitch," he says, turning his attention from Alex back to Eli, struggling harder against the ropes. "He didn't do anything wrong!"  
  
Eli studies Dean curiously. “You’re different than the others,” he says softly. “You’re not afraid.”  
  
Dean ignores him, focusing entirely on trying to free himself. While he’s looking up at his bound wrists, Eli’s hands come into his line of vision. He’s holding a knife, and cuts the rope a few inches above where Dean’s hands are tied. He stares at Eli as his arms drop down, his wrists now bound in front of him, his hands numb.  
  
“Come on, then,” Eli says. “You’ve piqued my interest. I want to see if you can get yourself and your friend out of this.”  
  
Dean stays still, looking skeptically at Eli, who stares calmly back at him. He glances down at his bound hands, then tries to take in his surroundings. His eyes land on an iron bar a few feet to his left, and before he can blink, he lunges toward it. His fingers wrap around the cool metal, and he swings the bar at Eli as hard as he can.  
  
The ghost dissipates, which is what Dean is expecting, but he’s caught off-guard when he feels Eli slam into him hard from behind, dropping him to his knees.   
  
“Child’s play,” Eli says, punctuating his words with a quick series of kicks to Dean’s stomach. Dean gasps and curls in on himself, trying to protect his organs from Eli’s heavy boots.  
  
He squeezes his eyes shut, then focuses on the rhythm of Eli’s kicks, and when the next one comes sailing toward him, he grabs at it, locking his hands around Eli’s ankle and pulling hard.  
  
The ghost’s skull cracks down hard against the ground as Dean upends him, and Dean exposes his blood-stained teeth in a satisfied grin.   
  
“How’s  _that_ for child’s play, pal.” He starts to drag himself to his feet, eyes darting around again for another weapon to use, when Eli quickly recovers and lunges forward, his hands latching around Dean’s neck and pinning him against the wall. Dean’s bound hands fly to his throat, pulling at Eli’s grip to no avail. His stomach drops as he feels his boots leaving the ground, and he struggles harder as his panic grows. He opens his mouth, desperately trying to suck in any amount of air he can, but Eli just tightens his grip. He leans in close to Dean and smiles at him.  
  
“You don’t believe me,” he says quietly, watching as Dean’s eyes start to fade, “but you deserve this. They all deserved this, for what they did to my Rebecca and me.”  
  
Dean’s eyelids flutter; he tries to protest, but all he can manage is a weak choking sound as his eyes begin to roll back in his head. Blackness dots his vision, and he can feel the energy draining out of him faster and faster as Eli tightens his grip even more. Dean gives one last desperate pull against Eli’s fingers when the ghost suddenly lets him drop.  
  
Dean gasps, sucking in long, deep breaths as his body falls to the ground. His eyes start to flutter closed, but before they do, he sees flames begin to slither up the ghost’s body until they envelop him completely. The last thing Dean hears before he fades into unconsciousness is Eli’s enraged scream, which, to him, sounds better than any bedtime story.

* * *

The last place Dean expects to find himself is burrowed in a nest of musty--but warm and comfortable, he’ll admit it--motel blankets and pillows. But that’s exactly where he finds himself once his body decides to regain consciousness.  
  
He lets out a soft groan as he tries to sit up, and sees Sam sprawled out on the bed next to him, the epitome of relaxed, watching TV. He glances over when he hears his brother stir, then turns his attention back to the TV.  
  
“About time, dude.”  
  
Dean brings a hand to the back of his head and winces, glaring at Sam. “Oh, sorry, was my reaction to almost getting choked to death by a fucking Amish ghost not acceptable to you?” He looks down and studies the rope burns around his wrists, not very bright, but still red and angry nonetheless. “What happened?” he asks softly.  
  
“You nearly gave me a fucking heart attack, getting attacked while I was on the phone with you,” Sam says, putting the TV on mute, swinging his legs off the bed, and turning to face Dean.   
  
 _Attacked, attacked…_  
  
“Where’s Alex?” Dean asks suddenly. “Eli shot him, is he--”  
  
“He’s fine,” Sam interrupts. “He’ll be in the hospital for a few days, but he’ll live. Bullet went right through.”  
  
Dean gives a tentative nod. “Okay, good. Wanna fill me in on the rest of what happened, then?”  
  
Sam sighs and looks at his brother, resting his forearms on his knees. “I had already been trying to find anything we missed after you told me about Sean, and once you got grabbed, I found out some more about what had happened to Eli.  
“Everyone had said that the family chose not to give him a proper burial, that they cremated him instead--”  
  
“Yeah, yeah, skip to the new stuff,” Dean says.  
  
Sam rolls his eyes and glares at his brother, but continues. “Well, that’s the thing. They  _didn’t_. Apparently his parents had arranged for his body to be buried in the family’s plot in Ohio without telling anyone. Their family--”  
  
“Wait,  _Ohio_?”  
  
“Jesus, will you let me finish, Dean?”  
  
Dean opens his mouth to retort, but opts to stay silent instead. He waves his hand, signaling for Sam to continue.  
  
“Their family had roots there, and it’s where he would’ve been buried if he had stayed in the faith for his whole life. They decided that since he hadn’t married her before his death, he still deserved to be buried with his ancestors. Apparently, that decision wouldn’t have gone over well in the church, so they had private arrangements made to transport his body to Ohio, and they did the whole cremation thing because it seemed like the easiest way to get out of the whole situation.”  
  
Dean stares at him as he tries to process everything he was just told. “How the hell did you get to Ohio from here?”  
  
“I had a little help.” Sam nods over Dean’s shoulder.  
  
“Hello, Dean.”  
  
Dean startles at the all-too-familiar voice, and he turns to see that Cas has pulled his goddamn materialize-out-of-nowhere trick and is now standing in front of the motel room door.   
  
Dean gives Cas a confused wave. “Uh, hey, Cas.”  
  
Cas smiles at him. “I’m glad you appear to be healing well.”  
  
“Thanks. And, uh, thanks for helping Sam over there.”  
  
“Of course.”  
  
Dean nods, gives the angel a small, grateful smile, then turns back to Sam. “What hospital is Alex at? I want to go see him.”  
  
Sam barks out a laugh. “Yeah, right, dude. You’re a mess. We’re not leaving for at least another day so you can rest; I’m not letting you go running around a hospital.”  
  
Dean stares at his brother in disbelief. “Come  _on_ , Sam!”  
  
Sam shakes his head. “End of discussion.” He gets to his feet and grabs the keys to the Impala. “I’m gonna go get us some food, you...watch TV or something.” He tosses the remote onto Dean’s bed and leaves the room, locking the door behind him.  
Dean keeps his eyes on the door for a few more seconds before lifting his head a little then dropping it back against the pillows in frustration.  
  
“Dean.”  
  
“Yeah, Cas.”  
  
“I could take you to see your friend, if you’d like.”  
  
Dean lifts his head and stares at Cas. “Yeah?”  
  
Cas nods. “It would be a short visit, but I’m confident I can get you there and back before Sam returns.”  
  
“That’d be...great, Cas.” Dean smiles again, and Cas smiles back before reaching forward and pressing two fingers to Dean’s forehead.   
  
When Dean opens his eyes again, he’s standing in a hospital hallway, Cas’ arm around his waist for support until he can get his bearings.  
  
“Alex’s room is straight ahead,” Cas says, nodding at room 220. Dean nods his thanks to Cas once more, then makes his way toward Alex’s room.  
  
He knocks on the metal doorframe when he arrives, and Alex looks up at him, his eyes widening once he registers that Dean isn’t another nurse here to encourage him to eat the shitty hospital food.  
  
“Dean! Jesus, you look worse than me.”  
  
Dean chuckles. “I’ll live.” He drags a chair over to the side of Alex’s bed and drops down into it. “How’re you doing, man?”  
  
Alex shrugs, then glances down at the thick bandage wrapped around his shoulder. “I wish I could say I’ve had worse, but I guess now I can tell people I got shot by a pissed off ghost.”  
  
“And survived,” Dean adds. “Bet that’d look golden on a resume.”  
  
Alex grins, then his face turns serious. “How’d we get out of there?”  
  
Dean leans back, pulls in a breath sharply through his teeth as his ribs ache with the movement. “Long story short, my brother got our angel pal to teleport him to Ohio so he could salt and burn Eli’s bones, and then he teleported back here to get us.”  
  
Alex stares at him, his eyes wide. “Fuck.”  
  
“Fuck is right. But he’s gone now, and there won’t be any more murders at Real Life History! as long as nobody decides to try and kill Luke.” Dean smirks.  
  
“No guarantees that won’t happen,” Alex says, rolling his eyes.  
  
Dean nods, then grins at Alex. “I’ve gotta go, though; my brother thinks I’m still resting. But I just wanted to let you know that shit’s taken care of, okay? Don’t worry about it anymore.”  
  
Alex studies him for a few seconds. “But if there was a ghost here, then there are ghosts other places, too, right?”  
  
“Well, yeah.” Dean decides that might not have been the best answer when Alex’s face drains of color, and quickly tries to adjust it. “But, I mean, me and my brother will make sure to kick their asses before they get back here.”  
  
Alex nods slowly, but doesn’t look entirely convinced. “Thanks,” he says, giving Dean a small smile.  
  
Dean smiles, gets to his feet, and is about to leave when he pauses, then turns back. “Hey, Alex?”  
  
“Hmm?”  
  
“Fuck Stanford. Seriously.”

* * *

Two days later, Sam deems Dean travel-ready, and Dean can’t be more relieved; if he never sets foot in Amish Country again, he’ll be the happiest of campers.  
  
Sam is in the bathroom taking a quick shower while Dean sits on the edge of the bed, throwing their things into duffels and lacing up his boots. Bored, he flicks on the TV, which is tuned to TLC. There’s a commercial playing for a new TV show premiering soon, and Dean’s eyes widen when he sees the title down in the corner of the screen.   
  
 _I started working when I was 15, dropped out of school early._  
 _I am fascinated by the outside world; I can’t stand living the rest of my life wondering ‘What if.’_  
 _It takes somebody with a lot of balls to get up and leave the Amish._  
 _They’ll tell you you’re going to hell…_  
 _If I go to New York City and decide not to stay Amish, I’m gonna be alone._  
 _I guess I just need to get away and find out who I really am._  
Breaking Amish,  _premieres Sunday, September 9 at 10, only on TLC._  
  
Dean stares at the screen, then grabs the remote and flicks the TV off. A second later, Sam walks out of the bathroom in clean clothes, his hair still damp from the shower. Dean looks over at him.  
  
“Sammy,” he says. “Let’s get the hell out of here.”


End file.
